


A love story

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Caring Thorin Oakenshield, F/M, Fluff, Sick Character, Sleepy Cuddles, Story within a Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7930981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you've ever wanted Thorin to take care of you when you're sick...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A love story

You were propped on a stack of pillows in bed, forlornly clutching a handkerchief and still catching your breath from your most recent fit of coughing, when the door of your bedchamber was nudged ajar by an unexpected visitor.

Thorin’s blue eyes smiled kindly on you as he peeked into the room before swinging the door fully open to enter, bearing a tray with a teapot and mug, and you beamed in spite of your misery.

“What are you doing here?” 

“Who better to care for my _ghivashel_ when she is ill?” He filled the mug with steaming liquid and came to your side, sitting on the edge of the bed as he handed you the cup and urged you to drink.

A sip of the medicinal brew soothed your throat, despite its bitterness on your tongue, and you sighed with relief. 

“You really shouldn’t stay, Thorin,” you said guiltily, “it might be catching.”

**“I care too much about you to just leave you alone like this,”** he smiled, gently smoothing your pillow-mussed hair.

“But you’re the King…everyone depends on you. It’s not worth getting sick just to take care of me.”

The sudden shiver that ran through your body did not escape his notice, and he lay a concerned hand on your forehead, frowning sympathetically at the clamminess of your feverish skin.

“Drink,” he instructed, nodding toward the mug, while he stood and removed his outer coat and belt, stripping to his tunic before climbing into the bed, leaning back against the headboard to gather you carefully into his arms. His large hand guided your head to rest on his shoulder, and you basked in the warmth that radiated from his body, driving away your chills.

**“You’re worth more than you think,”** he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and coaxing a smile to your lips. “Besides,” he said, with twinkling eyes, “I am not so vulnerable to sickness as you frail children of Men.”

“Frail? Tell that to the Orcs we burned with my arrows still in their carcasses,” you groused, and his voice rumbled with an appreciative chuckle.

Thorin took away the mug after you’d emptied it at his prodding, letting you lie contentedly against him while he raked his fingers through your hair with comforting strokes. His warm embrace, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the low humming of a song in his throat relaxed you more than any of Oin’s herbal concoctions.

“The sound of your voice helps me rest,” you sighed. “Tell me about your day, tell me a story…tell me anything.”

“A story,” he mused. “Shall I tell you my favorite one?”

“Mmm,” you nodded.

He slid down the headboard slightly, settling you more snugly in his arms. “It is the story of a girl…a brilliant archer who went on a dangerous quest in the company of a King.”

A smile tugged at your lips at the familiar narrative. “Was he a very handsome, majestic King?”

You felt him grin against your head. “I daresay the girl thought him a very grumpy King.”

“And was he?”

“Oh, aye. More so because he felt foolish, longing for her as he did,” he said softly. “And the King did not like to think himself a fool. He told himself that she would be better off with one of the Princes – young and carefree – and he despised the jealousy that gnawed in his breast at the thought of her calling him ‘Uncle.’“

Your hand rested at the open neckline of his tunic, your thumb reflexively stroking his skin in sympathy, trailing through the coarse, dark hair that furred his chest. 

“The girl showed still more beauty and bravery and wit as the journey continued,” Thorin went on, “and one night, when the King least expected it, she kissed him…and the tender touch of her lips was magic enough even to bring him joy in the midst of Elvish lodgings.”

A giggle escaped you, and you tapped his chest playfully. “Only you could resist Rivendell’s charms…and you’re supposed to be putting me to sleep.”

“Forgive me, _amralime_ ,” Thorin chuckled, rubbing circles over your back and lowering his voice to a soothing timbre as he continued. “The girl’s love changed the King entirely. She was the voice that called him out from madness, the hands that tended his wounds…the reason to fight, to live, to be a better man. And now,” he added, and you heard the smile in his voice, “he counts the days until he shall stand before his people and take her to wife, and see her lovely face beside him at every sleeping and waking.”

“Twenty-three,” you supplied, smiling through the happy tears that welled in your eyes.

“All the more reason you must get well,” he admonished. “Rest now, my heart. I will be here when you wake.”

You nodded and curled up closer to him, letting weariness wash over you in the comfort of his arms.

Thorin’s lips softly brushed your forehead, and his voice was but a whisper.

“Tomorrow, we shall write another page of our story.”


End file.
